Birthday Drabble #16.

Prompt: A post-breakup story.

Word Count: 975.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader.

Warnings: Angst, angst, angst.

A/N: Birthday drabble for @aweways I know it’s not exactly what you asked for but I was really inspired to write this.
Once again, @evanstanss is being there to let me know my work does not suck.

Originally posted by sibirr

Bucky moved across the halls of the Avengers HQ, weariness spreading all over his body: training hours have increased, missions followed the same pattern and his sleep cycle was all over the place. He blamed it on the past few months and the escalating number of episodes across the globe that required his and his team expertise didn’t help. However, deep down he knew better than that.

Shaking his thoughts off of his overworked mind, his feet took him to the kitchen where he hoped coffee was recently made, as the mere thought of brewing the beverage from scratch only added to his somnolent state. Out of all the possible scenarios he could think of, the words that reached his ears didn’t fit in any of them.

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1950s Donald Duck Cola sign by Tom Simpson

  • Word Count: 1,344
  • Characters: America x Chubby? Reader
  • Theme: Omorashi

Omorashi: A sexual fetish that involves holding urine of which results in “wetting” themself 

You and Alfred sat together on the couch while watching a film on the TV. This was nothing new, since every Friday was dubbed date night and you both would get together and share snacks while marathoning your favorite movies together.

It started out like every other date night, Alfred brought various snacks while you picked out the movie for you both to watch, spending the rest of the night in each others arms.

However, this date night seemed a bit off to you. Alfred brought more snacks than usual tonight, along with an large amount of drinks. Usually he would only bring a two-liter or a couple of bottles but this time he brought many gallons of your favorite drink.

However, you brushed this off and assumed maybe he wanted to keep some for the next week. But unknown to you, Alfred has a plan already in mind for you. He was planning on making you drink a whole gallon yourself.

Playing it off smoothly, you both began the film and snacked while your attention was to the screen as usual. Every one in awhile you would bring your lips to the straw and gulp down a couple mouth fulls of your beverage and continue.

What you didn’t know was you have already made your first mistakes. One, you forgot to use the restroom before Alfred showed up at your apartment. and the Second, Alfred would continuously refill your drink without you even knowing.

As the marathon continued, you still munched down on the snacks and gulped the large drink without much thought. Hours passed and you began to feel that uncomfortable feeling of your bladder becoming full.

You didn’t want to pause the movie since it would be rude while Alfred was there, since he was so invested into the movie, or so you thought.

It was decided in your mind you would wait it out until the movie was over until you would relieve yourself, the movie was halfway over and you could last, right?

To take your mind off your heavy bladder you continued to sip on your still full beverage, adding to the overly filled bladder. As you squirmed and began to hold your thick thighs together tightly, Alfred watched you at the corner of his eyes, smirking to himself at how cute you looked.

Finally, the movie was over and you quickly excused yourself to make way to your bathroom to finally release all the liquid built inside. Once you turned the door nob, it wouldn’t budge.

Panic began to quickly fill you as you tried to open the door, only to find a lock on it. You groaned to yourself as your hand held tightly to your private to hold yourself from peeing yourself.

“A-Alfred!” you whined out, practically squirming from the feeling about to burst.

Alfred grinned while walking to you, knowing exactly what you wanted. Of course, he was the one to place the lock on the bathroom while you prepared the snacks in the kitchen before the movie marathon. This was all part of his plan, and it was working perfectly.

“Yeah, babe?” he asked innocently, sounding completely ignorant to the scene before him. Although, he knew exactly what was happening. He had you right where he wanted you, a whiny mess with tears prickling the corners of your eyes.

“T-there’s a lock on the door! D-did you do this?” you cried out, voice shaky and uneven from desperation. You felt like you were about to burst, right in front of your boyfriend!

You clenched your thick thighs tighter with your hands grabbing tightly on crotch to hold in all the urine, desperately whining as you pulled all your strength into not wetting yourself in front of your long term boyfriend.

“Yeah! I thought you would like it, ya know?” he replied, a devious smirk evident on his face while he strutted closer to your squirming form. His large hands grabbing you, squeezing and pinching all your extra flesh.

Suddenly he pushed you against the wall, surprising you while earning a small yelp from the movements. Bringing one hand to stroke the contours of your face while he nipped the soft skin on your neck.

You squirmed under his touch, mewling and crying out from the sensations you were receiving and the feeling of about to burst at any moment.

“What do you want, baby?” he asked slyly, drawing out the last word innocently. You whined while clenching your thighs together with all your strength, that familiar feeling of urine rushing down for relief.

“Please let me use the bathroom, Alfie!” You cried out, hot tears rolling down your chubby cheeks. Alfred loved this look on you, the look of total desperation and need to relieve yourself from your bursting full bladder.

“What was that? I couldn’t hear you, babe!” he said teasingly, nipping harder at your soft neck harder along with the other love marks he left without your knowing.

“I-I said…” but before you could finish your sentence you let out a loud gasp, your senses freezing. Alfred had taken his hand and groped your crotch tightly, making you squirm and whine under his rough touch while small droplets of urine leaked out.

Suddenly, you cried out in embarrassment and relief as you felt warmth take over your whole body. The contents of your bladder gushing out. Steady streams of piss flowing down your thick thighs onto the hardwood floor beneath you into a large puddle.

Alfred watched in amazement as you wet yourself, soaking his entire hand that was tightly grabbing your privates. Your face burned in embarrassment and relief as you continued to empty your bladder on the floor, the warmth of the piss feeling satisfying as it flowed down your legs in rivets.

“N-no! Don’t look at me!” you cried out as you continued to piss yourself. Completely soaking your panties, the strong stench of urine filling your nostrils.

However, Alfred paid no attention to your desperate cries. He bit his lip as he watched his girlfriend pee herself, a blushing and squirming mess while yellow streams flowed down her thighs. He could smell the strong stench of her urine.

There was nothing but silence, and of course the sound of liquid dripping and running onto the floor. You sighed out in relief at the feeling of your bladder now empty, until you felt a panic rise. You have just pissed yourself! Not only that, you pissed in front of your boyfriend and on his hand!

You stayed silent as you looked down on the mess you made on the floor, not wanting to look Alfred in the eyes due to complete embarrassment. However, you were shocked to feel Alfred press his body against your soft one, pinning you against the wall harder.

“Seeing you like this..” he began, kissing away the hot tears on your burning cheeks.

“Looking so vulnerable and innocent while pissing yourself,” he paused before claiming your lips in a heated and passionate kiss. At first it shocked you, did he plan this? Did he actually enjoy you pissing yourself? So many questions flowed through your mind, but it soon washed away as you melted into the kiss.

“Makes me want you even more, babe” he said huskily into your ear. You whined and moaned from his touches and the words he was whispering into your ear.

The piss on your legs that was once warm but now becoming cold against your skin while you stood there in your own piss and musk, in complete embarrassment.

“It makes me realize how much more I love you” he finally said before unlocking the bathroom door where he lead you inside to undress you from your piss soaked clothes to get you into the bath to wash away the strong stench.

You never knew Alfred was into this kind of thing, but it surprised you even more that you would it oddly exciting and enjoying the feeling of having a full bladder of pee then wetting yourself.

Fic: Well-Fitted

@shipperqueen93 prompted: “Rumbelle: He didn’t magic belle new clothes, he made them himself, which required him to take her measurements. Awkward dark castle fun!”

I’m so sorry this took so long!

Well, this did absolutely not go in the direction that I thought it would when I first got the prompt. I’m not quite sure where my mind went, and I really hope you don’t mind that this ended up a little bit… naughtier than I first foresaw. It’s just that I got thinking about the kind of underwear Belle would have on beneath her first gold gown and things escalated from there…

Rated: M



Rumpel has to admit that it simply can’t go on like this. Something’s got to be done. Not only is the image of his maid cleaning the castle in a ball gown utterly ridiculous, the gown itself is also looking incredibly worse for wear now, its hem tattered and torn from sweeping and clambering up and down ladders, and he doesn’t want any visitors to think he keeps her in rags for any kind of… insalubrious reason. Truth be told, he simply hadn’t thought about the logistics of having another person in the castle. He has his own ever-expanding wardrobe, but he didn’t exactly give Belle time to pack a bag when he took her away from her father’s castle. He’s been surreptitiously cleaning the dress with magic so that she doesn’t have to wear the same thing day in day out without any chance of laundering it, but at the same time, it really isn’t the most practical of outfits and the time has come for him to do something about it.

She is going to need some new clothes, that’s clear enough, but the fact remains that he has already expended too much magic on cleaning her limited wardrobe already, and if he’s going to get her anything else, it must be done by hand. He’s not in the habit of buying clothing at markets himself, and he does not yet trust his little maid not to make a run for it if he lets her go down into the town herself to pick out fabrics. He has plenty of good, strong cottons and linens left over in his stores from previous projects, and it would be easy enough to make something for her from those fabrics, things that would last longer than the silk and satin she wears at the moment. The only problem that he can see will be getting the sizes right.

There’s only one thing for it. He’s going to have to take her measurements. The only other way he can think of is to steal her golden gown and deconstruct it to use the pattern, but he feels that might be fraught with danger as not only would it entail sneaking into her room, it would also require him to take the thing apart and reassemble it within the space of a single night, and although he’s very good with a needle even if he does say so himself, Rumpel usually needs a little bit more time than that.

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geminigem91  asked:

14 or 21 please!

21. You owe me closure. You at least owe me that. 

There will probably be a part 2 to this. I don’t know how it got so long.

Word Count: 2115

“You still haven’t heard from him?”

“Nope,” you say woefully into the phone, eyes zoned out on nothing while your fingers pluck pieces of lint from a couch pillow. You’ve been something close to a zombie all week, unable to perform normal human activities like eating and sleeping and socializing regularly. In fact this is only the second time you’ve spoken to your best friend since you told her about Ashton’s impulse to leave you exactly eight days ago. 

You say impulse because it came as a surprise to you, but who knows how long he was contemplating it before finalizing his decision. You still can’t figure out what caused him to do it, the reflection you’ve done on the days prior to his announcement showing no obvious reasons, and no assistance coming from the man himself given his refusal to answer your texts. 

“Well we should do something tonight,” Sahar proposes. “Actually no, you don’t have a choice in the matter. We’re going out.“ 

You groan the vocal equivalent of a moose call, hating the idea of leaving your house with so much post-breakup sadness to lug around with you. “I don’t even like the bars around here,” you complain. 

“You will once you’ve got a few drinks down your gullet,” she insists. 

You smile for what feels like the first time in your life, Sahar’s odd choice of words never ceasing to entertain you. A glance at the clock on the wall tells you it’s only three in the afternoon, leaving plenty of time to get ready should you agree to her plans. 

“I don’t want to stay out too late.” 

"I’ll have you home by midnight, how’s that?" 

"I guess." 

She chuckles at your bland excitement. "Pick you up at 8. Look hot." 

"Are you implying that I don’t always?" 

"I’m just guessing you’ve been in the same sweatpants since Monday." 

She knows you too well. 

"I’ll put on a push-up bra just for you,” you tease. 

The smile on Sahar’s face is evident when she proudly states, “That’s my girl.”


Sahar was right about you warming up to the bar after being persuaded by the right amount of alcohol. It started off too noisy and too scented of nicotine, but as your third glass of something blueberry burns it’s way down your throat, you feel more at home. 

One thing that still doesn’t thrill you, though, is the endless stream of men lining up to hit on you. You begin to regret taking Sahar’s advice to dress up for the occasion, tired of denying one person’s offer to buy you a drink just to be met with another within the span of a few minutes. You’re pretty sure one guy even came back around to try for a second chance. All of these poor suckers, thinking you’re emotionally available. 

Another part that could be better is that you haven’t quite stopped thinking about Ashton. The alcohol serves as a decent distraction, and Sahar is using all of her best tactics to make sure you’re having a good time, but there’s always something in your line of vision that reminds you you’re in no position to be as happy as you’re attempting to be. 

The fact that the bar Sahar chose to help you get over Ashton is merely half a block away from Ashton’s apartment complex doesn’t relieve your mind either. She had no way of knowing; she hasn’t been to his place before. But you constantly find yourself peeking at the entrance, hoping to catch Ashton and his group of friends walking in, and fantasizing about what you’d say to him. 

The night creeps along slowly, the beverages adding up until you’re thoroughly intoxicated and in need of a restroom. Some of your and Sahar’s mutual friends have come out and joined your breakup party to show their support and grumble about their own love lives, and act of allegiance you might’ve appreciated more if one of them weren’t Sahar’s girlfriend. Witnessing their subtle gestures of intimacy as they both stay engaged with the group conversation makes it slightly more difficult for you to accept your newly single relationship status. 

After your fourth refill of the same poison, you excuse yourself from the booth your friends have taken over, no longer able to deny your body the relief it’s needed since drink number three. The short hallway leading to the bathrooms is quiet, allowing your brain, whether you like it or not, to think more efficiently. Bad luck for you since Ashton remains the hottest topic of your thoughts. 

You pull out your phone after giving your hands a good wash, tempted to text him until you’re exposed to the multiple blue boxes of a one-sided conversation. Unwanted tears spring to your eyes as you genuinely wonder how he can just ignore you like that. You were his girlfriend for fuck’s sake; you were supposed to mean something to him. 

With a long look in the sink’s mirror, you decide that you’re sober enough to walk to his apartment. You’ll have to do it alone since there’s no way in hell Sahar would approve of you going out of your way to see him, and to be fair, you’re not exactly proud of the idea yourself. It’s way past dark outside, you’ve got nothing but drunk bravery to defend yourself should someone approach you, and Ashton certainly doesn’t deserve your relentless effort to reach out to him. But you need answers, and this might be the only way you’re going to get them. 

Without informing Sahar or the other girls, you sneak out of a back door at the end of the hallway and begin your trek to Ashton’s place. It’s really not that far away, it’d take less than a minute to drive, and though your heels succeed at slowing you down you make it to the complex in the absence of breaking a sweat. 

The key code Ashton gave you when you first started dating is all you need to get into the building, and from there on out it’s like you’re a resident. You take the elevator to the fourth floor, a hassle that used to bother you when you went grocery shopping with him and had to make more than one trip out to the car. 

As you close in on his front door, it occurs to you for the first time that he might not even be home. You’re grateful for not thinking of that sooner, though, since it might have stopped you from coming. 

You expect to have to wait a while after knocking on the wooden surface, either to determine that he isn’t here or to give him a chance to get out of bed. It’s late, after all, and Ashton’s a fan of waking up early for morning gym sessions. But the door swings open almost immediately, Ashton appearing wide awake and dressed. He looks like he’s beginning a sentence until he sees that it’s you standing in front of him, stopping him in his tracks. 

“Y/n?” he asks, his relaxed expression changing to one of concern. 

You cross your arms, his face awakening the anger you’ve spent eight days building up toward him, and the alcohol in your system encouraging you to let loose. 

“Look, if you want to break up with me, you’re gonna have to do it like a decent human being,” you say, taking a step forward. 

He’s immobile, the shock of seeing you unexpectedly taking a toll on his response. You’re glad to see you still have some affect on him. 

“Say something,” you demand weakly. 

It takes a moment, but finally he sighs, extending his hand to touch your elbow but retracting it before any contact is made. 

“Y/n,” he says again, “I get it. I get why you… But you can’t be here right now." 

Your jaw quivers against your will. "Oh okay, is there a better time for you?” You scoff. “How about yesterday, or two days ago, or any day for the past week, Ashton, because I’ve been trying to talk to you!" 

He shushes you frantically, as if the volume of your voice might set off an alarm system. It only pisses you off more. 

"What did I do to you?” you ask rhetorically. “Why do you think I deserve to be treated like this?" 

He anxiously glances down the hallway, not paying a bit of attention to what you’re saying. His blunt behavior triggers a more sensitive emotion in you, and you wipe your eye before a drop can escape it. He returns his gaze, your effort to prevent yourself from crying not going unnoticed by him. His brows knit together; all of his actions seem hesitant, apparently torn with an internal battle of his own. 

"You need to leave,” he says again, gently yet firm. 

You shake your head. “Not until we talk." 

He takes a deep breath, casting another brief glance toward the distant elevators. Something tells you he’s not sold on giving in to your request. 

"Ashton, please” you sadly beg, hating yourself for it. “You owe me closure. You at least owe me that." 

"I know, baby, I know,” he quietly admits, the regret in his voice taking you by surprise. 

You wait. 

His standoffish posture gradually eases. “Is your car parked out front?” he asks. 

You scowl, unable to see what that has to do with anything. “No, I walked from the bar down the road. Why?" 

Every muscle in his body tightens. "By yourself?" 

Oh, he better not have the audacity to lecture you about safety right now. 

"It’s not like you were gonna come to me." 

He bites his bottom lip, deciding to save this talk for another time. "Did anyone see you come in?" 

"I don’t know? Who cares?" 

All of a sudden Ashton grabs your wrist and leads you inside his apartment, closing and locking the door behind you. You’d pat yourself on the back for getting through to him if you didn’t have the feeling something strange is going on. 

"Y/n, you really can’t stay long.” He turns to face you, his close proximity coming naturally. 

Your eyes squint when you look up at him, trying to pick his mind for what’s really going on. “Are you expecting someone?” you ask. His resistance to answer tells you you’re right. Your jaw falls agape with a painful realization. “Is it a girl?" 

"No,” he’s quick to shoot the idea down, “No-no-no, baby, it’s nothing like that." 

His hands instinctively reach for yours. You look down, repulsed by the gesture. He’s keeping something from you. 

"Why do you keep calling me that?” His use of the pet name hitting you like a bullet every time it slips out. 

“Because I still feel like you’re mine." 

"Then why did you-" 

Knocking twice as powerful as yours sounds against the outside of Ashton’s front door. It startles you, causing you to squeeze his large hands for comfort. 

"You need to hide,” Ashton whispers seriously. 

“What? No." 

"Don’t argue with me, Y/n." 

"Don’t tell me what to do,” you say stubbornly, earning yourself a palm over your mouth. Ashton turns you around and forces you to walk forward, his hand cutting off your ability to curse at him. You try licking, biting, groaning through his palm, but nothing works. 

The two of you reach his bedroom, where he kind of drops you inside. You’re ready to fight him at this point, but he begins whispering directions before you can catch your breath. 

“You’re to lock this door and not open it until I come get you. Understand?" 

"No I don’t fucking understand, I don’t know what the hell is going on,” you whisper back angrily. 

“I promise I’ll explain everything later-" 

The heavy knocking picks back up, and a man’s muffled voice calls out Ashton’s name. He sounds aggravated, like he’s not used to having to wait for people. 

You gaze at Ashton for some kind of reassurance. He looks worried, and if something’s unsettling to him you know it can’t be good. 

"You promise?” you ask. 

“Yes.” He cups your face tenderly and gives you a kiss that you can barely feel under the circumstances. “Trust me." 

And then he’s gone, out to face whoever’s impatiently awaiting entrance. You don’t realize you’re shaking until you fumble with the doorknob, locking it as quickly as you can. You melt down beside it, legs bending in awkward ways courtesy of your heels, and press your ear against the thin barrier. 

You wait. 

Writing Prompts



1960 Schlitz ad by Tom Simpson

Famous Last Words

Summary:  In a world where the last words your soulmate will say to you are written on your wrist, fearful and introverted Phil works in a bookstore. His greatest fear? The words counting down the seconds until he meet his soulmate, someone called ‘Dan.’ But it isn’t until he befriends a university student that he nicknames ‘Bear’ that Phil realizes that surviving through fear isn’t the same as living.

A/N: Herein lies the calm before the storm. 

                    Previous Chapter               Masterpost    Next Chapter

Chapter Five

      The exact details of how Ink and Quill came into existence and how it was still open and functioning had always been somewhat of a mystery to Phil. While on a typical day it wasn’t desolate by a long shot, it never seemed like there were enough customers to support the shop alone.

      London was big enough that there were places that seemed like they had been there forever. Ink and Quill was one such example. It seemed that it had always been there and that it probably always would be. There had been a rumor in circulation for the past couple of years that Ink and Quill was owned by a wealthy and elderly couple as a kind of past time, which would explain a lot if it were true.

     Regardless of how it came to be or how long it would last, Phil couldn’t deny that out of all of the places to work Ink and Quill was one of the better ones. Vacations were usually fairly lax, the hours from eight to five with an hours break for lunch. Extra time he wanted to take off he recorded on a program on the computer. It worked by the honor system, but dishonesty was more of a foreign concept to Phil than if he tried to learn Japanese.

     Out of all of the days of the week, Tuesdays had quickly presented themselves as being the least eventful. Phil had just settled back from lunch with his customary cup of coffee to finish cataloging the latest shipment of books when the door opened.

     He set down a hardcover copy of Horton Hears a Who, registering Bear standing at the front of his desk in surprise.

     “Hey,” Phil said, smiling and shooting a glance at the clock. 1:15. “Are you on break?”

     “Hi,” Bear said, offering a smile of his own in return. “Break started yesterday.”

      “I’m flattered that you’d take valuable free-time to come and visit,” Phil said only partially sarcastically. “You hadn’t stopped by the last couple of days and I was getting worried.” Opening the second drawer down he pulled out Cactus Maintenance: A memoir, waving it triumphantly in front of Bear. “I finally found it.”

       “You did?” Bear asked, sounding more startled than anything, and only further confirming the suspicions that had started to grow in Phil’s mind. “Thanks.”

         Phil handed him the book. “I think this is the right one at any rate.” He watched as Bear turned it over, reading the back cover. A sticky-note stuck out of the top of one of the pages, black writing bleeding through the paper. Bear opened the book to the page, pulling the note off and reading it silently. Phil had antagonized over it long enough to have the words memorized.

       You don’t have to buy books or pretend to like plants to talk to me.

       Bear’s eyes widened a fraction. He stared at the note for a moment, Phil feeling his mouth start to run dry. Maybe he had overstepped a line. Maybe he’d interpreted it all wrong. Maybe Bear—

      Phil’s thoughts were cut off as Bear grabbed the sticky-notes sitting on his desk along with a black sharpie. He uncapped it, scribbling something on the top of one of the notes. He dropped the pad on the table once he had finished, flipping it so that Phil could read the writing.

      Do you want to go to Starbucks?

      Phil felt the corners of his lips begin to curl into a smile. Relief started to overtake some of the worry, and despite the fact that his lunch break hadn’t even been half an hour ago the thought that he’d do anything less than go was ridiculous. He met Bear’s eyes, holding out his hand. Bear dropped the marker into his palm, biting his lip as his eyes darted to the nearest exit—the window behind Phil’s desk.

       Just let me lock up.

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I’ll Be Good - Part 2 (The Flash)

A/N: i think this is cute but that verdict is up to you 

Word Count: 2.464

Part 1 , Part 3 

Four days had passed since you saved The Flash.

No other meta-humans got killed and Death Chase hadn’t been spotted ever since that night. It was a bit difficult not to look over your shoulder every moment keeping an eye out for any attempts at your life, but you were getting used to that new, relaxing routine.

You hadn’t picked up your suit since you threw it in the back of the closet four nights ago. For the first time in months, you felt free –content even.

No more assassins, no more problems The Flash couldn’t handle in the blink of an eye. Your services to the city were not needed any longer so you began focusing on yourself. Maybe you could even learn to keep your emotions in check and not cause small earthquakes each time something emotional happened to you.

It was late afternoon and you had found comfort at one of the tables inside Jitters. Being winter and everything, a warm coffee shop was the definition of bliss in that moment. Your earphones were plugged in and the calming sounds of music off the “Your Favorite Coffeehouse” spotify playlist blocked out every other noise around you. Your eyes were focused on the book in front of you and there was a persistent smile on your face.

That smile seemed to light up the entire coffee house –or so it seemed to Barry, at least.

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extra marshmallows // riarkle coffeshop au

ok so this is my first riarkle one shot i hope you guys like it. if you notice any mistakes grammar/spelling wise please hmu in the ask box. also if you have any request or anything for oneshots, etc. hmu. - b  

The day could not go by any slower for Farkle Minkus. He was working at a coffeeshop just outside of Manhattan to make a little extra cash while he was at NYU. He was counting down the minutes until ten finally hit and he could lock the door and leave. He only had twelve minutes left when he heard the chime of the bells signaling the entrance of a new customer. His head turned towards the door and he saw a tall girl with a beige knitted beanie that covered the brown locks that were covering half of her face.

“Are you still open?” He barely heard the words as they came out of her mouth because that is when she looked up and he caught a glimpse of her face. It was round with a childish look of innocence on it, but her eyes. Her eyes are what caught Farkle’s attention. They didn’t match her childlike essence that she gave off. They were deep pools of brown that had seen pain.

“Um, yeah-h.” He stumbled over his words as moved for his place resting on a stool to behind the register. “I’m Farkle. What can I get for you today?”

“Can I just get a hot chocolate? With extra marshmallows please. And I’m Riley.” She asked pushing a lock of hair behind her ear and keeping her gaze downward.  

“Of course.” He smiled at her as she began to grab money out of her pocket. “Oh, don’t worry about it. It’s on me today.”

“Oh, no! You don’t have to do that I have the money.” She exclaimed finally making eye contact with him.

“It’s okay. You’re the last customer of the day. Don’t worry about it.” He said extending his hand out to her over the counter.

“Thank you.” She smiled at him.

“Well, Riley, let me go grab that hot chocolate for you.”

“Farkle!” He felt a grin take over his face as he turned to be greeted by Riley. He hopped over the counter and wrapped the brunette into his embrace. Riley had become a regular at the coffeeshop which quickly lead to her and Farkle becoming friends. It also lead to Farkle’s currently developing crush on Riley.

“Hey Riles. Did you get that English paper back yet?” He quizzed her as he let her out of his embrace. She placed her bag down at her usual table before following him back over to the counter where he had started preparing her hot chocolate with extra marshmallows.

“Yep. Got a 93. My professor said my writing was a bit distracted from the focus of the paper. A bit too much personal connections to the novel and not enough analysis.” She said frowning as she leaned onto the counter waiting for her beverage. Farkle added a few extra marshmallows to her hot chocolate to try and make her frown go away. He handed her the cup over the counter and felt his lips upturn as hers did. “Thanks Farkle.” She smiled at him and went to go sit at her table.

Farkle continued to serve customers as they came and went. Riley stayed sat at her table writing in her pastel notebook that she always had with her. It was covered in stickers and scribbles. Farkle had asked her about it once and she shrugged it off, but he could tell there was more in that book than she let on. They had idle conversation between guest.

Farkle glanced up at the clock to see that it was time to close. “C’mon Ri. It’s time to close up. You want another hot chocolate for the road?” Riley, absorbed in her writing, didn’t acknowledge Farkle. “Riles?” Riley popped her head up and gave him a timid smile.

“Sorry?” Farkle shook his head and smiled at her.

“Do you want another hot chocolate?”

“Sure, thank you, Farkle. Sorry.” She said shoving her things into her bag. hurriedly as Farkle prepared her hot chocolate. She came up to the counter and he handed it over to her. She smiled her thanks.

“See you, Riley.” He shouted as the brunette walked towards the exit with a wave of goodbye over her shoulder. Farkle watched as she walked down the busy New York streets and locked the door behind her. He then began to wipe down the tables. He got to Riley’s table and found her pastel yellow notebook. He picked it up and contemplated his options in his head. He could put it underneath the counter and give it to Riley tomorrow. He could try to run after her and give it to her. Or he could read it.

The first page he flips to is filled with messy scribbled writing, as if she was trying to get the thoughts out of her head so quickly to get rid of them.

The sound of the bells ringing above me

is the best sound I’ll hear all day

because the bells mean him

and him means happiness

His brows furrow as he flips to another page.

I know that I cannot love him

He does not deserve someone

As broken as me

He is filled with everything wonderful

And I am not.

Stay far away from me

For it is smart and I know you are,


He feels his heart skip a beat as he rereads the last line over and over again. Farkle. He looks up from the pages and there she is. She’s standing at the door of the shop with a look of sheer terror on her face as she sees the book in his hand. She turns from the glass and begins to bolt. Farkle drops the book onto the table and chases after her.

“Riley! Riles! Stop Riley!” He feels his heart beating through his chest and his lungs constricting making it hard to breath. He can see her a few feet away and he pushes himself faster. He clasp his hand around her frail wrist bringing her to a stop. “Riley.” He pants.

She turns to face him and he sees the tear streaks down her cheeks and he raises his hand to her cheek to wipe them away. “Farkle. I am so sorry.”

“For what, Riley?”

“Loving you. You deserve someone so much better than me, Farkle.” Riley says with a sad smile on her face. Farkle laughs and Riley’s face falls to a frown.

“You’re the best person I could possible love, Riley. You’re kind, smart, compassionate, caring…lovely and just everything. I don’t deserve you Riley Matthews. But I will try to be the best I can be for you.” Farkle leans in and places a kiss onto Riley’s lips. They both pull back and smile at each other.

“I think I could definitely write some poems about this.” Riley says biting her lower lip and laughing as Farkle leans in for another kiss.

Today ten health organizations and community groups filed a legal amicus brief in support of NYC’s proposed sugary drink portion cap rule. The rule, proposed by the New York City Board of Health, limits the size of sugary drinks sold to 16 ounces or less.

The brief recognizes the importance of taking action to stem obesity and chronic diseases, particularly for underserved racial and ethnic communities. It is directed at overconsumption of sugary drinks, a key driver of the obesity and type 2 diabetes epidemics.

The Institute of Medicine has identified sugary drinks as “the single largest contributor of calories and added sugars to the American diet.”  The rate of sugary drinks consumption is significantly higher among Hispanics and African-Americans. In New York City neighborhoods with the highest levels of obesity, residents are four times as likely to drink four or more sugary drinks a day as residents of neighborhoods with the lowest obesity rates. As a result, African Americans and Hispanics suffer from higher rates of chronic disease and obesity.

The consumption of sugary drinks by African-American and Hispanic youth, in particular, has been fostered by racially and ethnically targeted marketing by beverage companies. Ads for sugary drinks are more frequently present in magazines and television shows that target African Americans and Hispanics. Lower-income black and Latino neighborhoods also contain more outdoor ads for sugary drinks than do white and higher-income neighborhoods.

The brief points out that larger default portion size has led to increased consumption. By reducing standard sugary drink portion size to less than 16 ounces, NYC can move towards stopping the twin epidemic of obesity and type 2 diabetes.

Read the full brief here to learn more about the effects of sugary drinks on American, and read NYC Health Commissioner Mary T Bassett’s statement in support of the brief here.

Thank you to the following organization for supporting this important policy by joining to file the brief: National Alliance for Hispanic Health, Association of Black Cardiologists, Harlem health Promotion Center, New York State American Academy of Pediatricians, United Puerto Rican Organization of Sunset Park, Harlem Children’s Zone, The Children’s Aid Society, National Congress of Black Women, Montefiore Medical Center, and Mount Sinai Health System.